


Dance Like That

by CitrusVanille



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-26
Updated: 2006-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4583790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yohji convinces Aya to go clubbing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Like That

“One night,” he’d said.

Only one night.

“It’ll do you good,” he’d said.

What could it hurt?

“Please,” he’d said.

He never said please. So Aya had agreed.

And now he was standing, waiting, feeling like an idiot. And Aya was not used to feeling like an idiot. Nor was he used to the press of the crowds in strobe-lighted darkness.

He took a gulp of his drink, making a slight face at the taste. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, he’d merely told the bartender to give him something strong.

_Where the hell is he?_ Aya thought, half angry, half uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure he liked the looks he was getting, from both women and men.

He checked his watch, and took another swallow from his glass.

_Damn jerk._

Aya wasn’t sure why he was quite so pissed at the other man.

Maybe because Yohji had been so adamant that Aya dress appropriately that he’d dragged the younger man around half the city trying to find something before losing patience and warning him that he’d just better look good. Aya had let Omi and Ken pick something, and that had been even more fuss than Yohji had been, as the two couldn’t seem to make up their minds; Aya had ended up in – surprise, surprise – black: black boots, black pants, black shirt. Omi had even talked the older man into lining his eyes with kohl, and Ken had agreed that it was the perfect final touch: Yohji would be thrilled. But despite the assurances of the younger men that he did indeed look more than fit to go out clubbing, Aya still felt awkward.

Maybe because he hadn’t particularly wanted to come to this place to begin with; dark clubs were much more Yohji’s scene than his, and Yohji knew it, so why he’d insisted was beyond the irritated redhead.

Maybe because… because why?

At this point – Aya decided, taking yet another swig of his vile drink – it didn’t really matter any more why he was so aggravated. It had, all in all, been far more trouble than it should have been to even get to what Yohji called “the king of clubs.” The idiot should at least have had the decency to show up.

_Probably got distracted,_ Aya thought, irked. _He’ll chase anything in a skirt._ For some reason, the thought depressed him.

He finished off his drink and stared into the empty glass, feeling morose. _I should go._

Aya pushed himself away from the wall, but instead of heading for the exit, he made his was back to the bar for another drink.

“All right, there?” the bartender inquired, noting his scowl.

“Fine,” the redhead grunted.

The bartender frowned. “You waiting for a girl?”

“No. A friend.”

“You want to talk?”

“No. Just get me my drink.”

The bartender’s frown deepened, but he didn’t press any further.

Aya took the new glass and returned to the far wall.

Then he saw him.

Standing at least half a head over most of the crowd, the light brunet was making a beeline for the spot where Aya stood leaning against the wall, suddenly gone tense despite his casual pose.

Narrowed violet eyes tracked the other assassin’s every movement as the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

Within moments, Yohji stood in front of his red-haired colleague.

“Any trouble getting here?” the taller man asked in his usual drawl.

Aya glared. “Some.”

Yohji laughed. He plucked the drink from the younger man’s hand and finished it off, ignoring the scowl he received from the ‘injured’ party. “Let’s dance,” he said, offering his free hand.

Aya stared at him. “What?”

“Let’s dance,” Yohji said again, a bit louder so as to be heard over the din of the club.

“I heard you the first time,” Aya snapped.

“Well then?”

Aya looked at the proffered hand in front of him, up at Yohji’s face, back at the hand, then back up again. “You want me to dance with _you_?”

Yohji smirked. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“ _What_?”

The smirk faltered slightly. “When I asked you to come here with me, I thought you knew I meant… Ken and Omi seemed to think…” Yohji shook his head.

_Is_ that _what all this is about?_

A little bubble of happiness grew somewhere in Aya’s chest. He wasn’t sure quite what to do with it.

“You should have said something,” he settled for saying.

Yohji’s confident smirk returned full force. The corners of his eyes had crinkled slightly in a rare fashion, as though he, too, felt that strange little bubble of happiness. He placed the empty tumbler on a nearby table and grabbed both of Aya’s hands in his, pulling the younger man away from the wall and into the thick of the crowd.

“What –” Aya started to ask in protest.

But Yohji shook his head, still smirking, and pulled the redhead against him as he began to move to the beat of the music. “No talking,” he said, sliding one hand down to his partner’s hip and the other into his hair, tilting their foreheads together. “Just dance with me.”

**END**


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